Scene: Tim and Alexander are changing Alexander’s sheets, and Alexander asks about the waterproof mattress cover. Tim explains that it keeps the mattress clean in case Alexander’s pullup leaks in the night.
Alexander agrees that we wouldn’t want the mattress to get dirty, “Because then we would have to clean my mattress. And it wouldn’t even fit in my [laundry] hamper!”
Scene: I’m trying to convince Alexander to come out to breakfast with me and a couple friends, one of whom has a sweet new baby boy. Not above bribery, I offer him a big muffin, a smoothie, a hot chocolate, anything in exchange for him coming with me, all of which he turns down. Finally, I say, “What if I told you that if you come with me, you’ll get to meet a new baby?”
He puzzles over this for a minute and says, “But…I like the baby we already have.”
(Once I convinced him we wouldn’t be trading Emily in for the new baby, he agreed to go with me.)
Scene: At the dinner table, Alexander is silently gesturing and nodding as if he’s having a pretend conversation with someone.
I ask him, “Who are you talking to, Buddy?”
“I’m talking to me.”
“Oh,” I reply, “you’re talking to yourself? And what are you talking about?”
He pauses, uncertain, then: “Um, Mommy? Can you tell me what I’m talking about?”
Scene: In the car on the way to daycare.
“Mommy, I wish our house was a different color.”
I tell him that maybe we’ll paint it someday, but not for a really long time, so of course he asks, “Can we paint our house on the next stay-home days?” (“Stay-home days” is what he calls weekends.)
I explain that painting the house takes a really long time, and when we do it, it’ll take so long that we won’t have any time to play, so we’ll have to wait and paint the house on a stay-home day when we don’t want to play.
After a minute, he asks, “What do you want to do on the next stay-home days, Mommy?”
“I want to play!” I tell him without hesitation.
“Okay…” he says. Then, ever the problem-solver: “Oh! I have an idea! You and Daddy and Emily can play, and I’ll paint the house!”
Background: Miss Linda, our daycare provider, loves our kids to pieces, and she often pretends to munch on Emily’s chubby thighs, for obvious reasons (baby thighs are delicious).
Scene: I’m putting Alexander to bed on a Sunday night, and he asks if tomorrow is a stay-home day or a Miss Linda day. I tell him it’s going to be a Miss Linda day, and he immediately gets very serious.
“I’m not really comfortable going to Miss Linda’s.”
I know Linda takes excellent care of our kids, so I’m not really concerned when he says this, but I still ask some follow-up questions, just to be sure. Eventually, he admits that he has fun playing at Miss Linda’s, but he has one very serious concern:
“But, Mommy…Miss Linda just thinks that Emily is something to eat.”